Le Vegan Bible
by InquireTheOrigin
Summary: Note to self; "Clubbing alone leads to intoxication, which leads to an affair; where in my scenario, leads to hauling ass at odd hours of the morning." Kagome is a globally known super model. She's in the Netherlands to have a interview for a clothing line. Her entire career depends on her PDA. What happens when its left in the hands of a man named Inuyasha & their one night stand?


Disclaimer:_ I do not own Inuyasha_

A/N: Good Evening, FF readers. I hope you guys had a wonderful weekend. I know I've done nothing but write. My hands are literally cramping and its difficult to even type this author's note. Lol, well I hope you guys enjoy this newly developed plot. And I appreciate those who have reviewed on my other works: _Un Thai_, _Un Germany: Vague Memories, _&_ Le Bleu: Fiction of Femininity, Masculinity, & The Art of Sexuality_. I've only developed an account some odd days ago and I already have a total of six reviews between all three stories. It's best to start somewhere, right? So I thank you for the continued support!

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**Update**: (10/14 – 10/20) Extensive proofreading was done and further detail was added. This includes but is not limited to punctuation's grammar, and plot development. You may re-read chapter one if you've already read it, but there hasn't been a significant change to the outcome.

Thank you for the continued support,

-ITO

* * *

Genre: Humor, Sexual Themes, Humor, Family, Romance, Action

Pairings: Inuyasha/Kagome, Miroku/Sango (Other pairings will develop somewhere along the line)

Setting: (Chapter 1 - Netherlands, Amsterdam)

Created Piece: 10/13/2012

* * *

Chapter One

Moscato Wine

* * *

The suns shun much like a shallow grave.

It had caused dispute within the equinox and had fallen slumber abroad the moon. On becoming one, the suns left a decrypt shadow. Visible, it'd attain magenta instead of hanging over its usual smile; both yearning to rise with those who had not yet awakened below. While admiring across the sky in unison, they fought. Therefore, their behavior had blurred the morn in hues of auburn and navy.

The composure I once knew had not existed. It was the day I'd witnessed the early flocks of spring. They rained through the evening's sister in thin layers. The dew was thick this time of year and plastered the windows in sheets. Fair droplets of hydrangeas covered ground and flew through ghastly winds.

The staircase was of urban texture and lit the interior of the hall. It reflected maroon. Nature had its place, as a garden lay thoroughly groomed across the way. The greenhouse seemed to have been much shorter than the estate itself and could be seen above the steps. They led way into the dining hall as I left the last of the corridors. Various portraits of antique architecture had vibrantly grown against walls in elder. Ghoulish prints outlined each frame in definition. Each of them were hand carven from brass. It appeared to have found residence centuries ago.

Rearing the front, a chandelier dove into focus and resonated against the gay rug below. Not only did it mirrored well against marble flooring, but sunk into the door that led to a farther outlet—a world far complex. Taking no hesitation to quicken the pace, I felt something watching. Some sense of being noticed my presence and I didn't wish to acknowledge them. It was best I take leave by sunrise.

The horizons stood just beyond reach as I came face to face with my first hindrance.

Darting around the hall, a man had been seen tinkering with a rouge figure. Tall, dainty, pale. He almost appeared ghoulish as his complexion reminded me the tales of winter. Cursing some entity, I'd come to realize he blocked way. It was urgent to move discreetly. Retracting my trace towards the corner, I turned to see the chef's kitchen. The counter space was endless and left room for six burners. This hadn't been an average household and may have consisted of many occupants. Beyond its rage stood a dining setting for twelve; it had either been for family or the accomplice of numerous guests.

Still, it made note to be as careful.

Unwanted company could be heard afar and the withered haired worker had continued to struggle. From the looks of it, the door refused to pry. Fiddling with its golden latch, he clung onto the lock. If he'd just put the tools aside, it would be less of a pain to tear its chain. And as if heard by the heavens, he had done as commanded. It echoed upon released as he smiled in triumph. Man one, Man-made zero. I grew resentment as he taunted its defeat.

There wasn't the time to be at a standstill. The more I stood, the closer my stalker seemed to be.

Looking for a distraction, I took a penny from my clutch and threw it at an adjacent walkway. My aim had been low and costly. Instead of hitting a bed of flowers near his stance, it fell sharp against an oriental inspired vase. Noticing the unbalanced waves, he ran to its side. Yet unfortunately, it crackled off its pedestal and onto a cushion below. There had been padding where it sat. Whoever its owner had a knack at smart investments.

I quickly fled onto the veranda before someone took notice.

* * *

What dignity remained of me had been left in daemon arms; outside his estate, I could still hear the bellowing of my Netherlands lover. I'm sure what lust we'd conjured up between his sheets wasn't enough to let him in on my sudden departure. At least, that's the conclusion I'd come out to. Without contact or face recognition, screwing the same man twice had been a likely situation. For all I knew, it could have been the partner of a thousand affairs and I'd be the last to know.

After countless partners, the sex never left me satisfied. The conscious that spoke every now and again had always shown late.

Sometimes I wondered if it had even existed.

Decisions were made and questions asked later. Even so, I remained mindful of what privacy I had left. I've never been so eager to leave. It was essential to remove myself immediately. My thoughts were so clouded; I couldn't recall his features. But in my current predicament, I could have honestly cared less. It only made it easier to leave the scene while the trail was still cold. Hopefully, I would become just as forgotten.

Note to self. Clubbing alone leads to intoxication, which leads to an affair; where in my scenario, leads to hauling ass at odd hours of the morning.

Yet in some crazed afterthought, it would have been foolish not to taken in the scenery.

Call it what it was—I must have pulled one hell of a show last night. On the greater side, I seemed to have played my cards right; the man was loaded. If I'd been a gold digger, I could have wrapped him twice around my finger. Maybe even put a ring on it. Even so, I had to come to a realization. The rich and famous don't keep relationships; they use it for publicity and throw on an act.

It almost caused a giggle fit. I could only remember how naïve I once was when first becoming involved in the industry. Fact of the matter is that I could have any man I wanted. I just didn't feel like pursuing another cocky motherfucker. But if I were to pursue another cocky puss, I might as well not get just _any_ sucker. Especially, not from a one night stand.

He's already had a bit of sugar. It's best I didn't spoil him.

In spite of my circumstance, the architecture of his home had been in extravagant detail. This wasn't your average Jo, though it appeared to have some sense of a woman's touch. But I wouldn't be surprised in the least. A little feminine advice never hurt anyone.

The press had followed us the night before and had no trouble chasing tail. I'd been the next big thing for a while now and they gained experience on how to hunt me down. I became almost predictable. So for the fun of making their heads spin, I insisted on switching the IP logged into my PDA. That should have given them a run for their money.

From downtown to a more sophisticated part of the city was not too far of a stretch. I didn't have time for introductions. All I remember is getting down to it and before I knew it, he had me speaking fluent Dutch.

But that's not how it's always been.

Since I became the next victim of the fashion fiascos, I have only found comfort in the night life. I had lost touch of my career and took a nose dive into losing common sense. Out of pleasure, it became a routine in waking up in the arms of countless lovers.

It hadn't been any later than five thirty am.

I made it a habit in being the first to wake. I nearly cursed myself for over sleeping this time. It must have been quite the night. I'd never woken so lazily. Even so, I could have also gotten overwhelmed and lost track of time. But more importantly, who I'd become. I never took notice to how much could change a person in less than three years. In time, I never made it a practice to look at my past. But when I did, I saw much like a phoenix would. Risen from the ashes of what was once a child with no direction; to a woman without restriction.

The rules no longer applied to me and they haven't for a long time.

The steps were steep as my pace became swollen. I moved about the onyx railing. I occasionally tripped against an engraved letter of I. It intertwined with a foreign symbol between its centers. This hadn't helped my balance and I figured by now I would know how to run in ankle high boots—like hell I do.

As I staggered, the more annoyed I'd become.

My agitation would have grown if I hadn't been so close to freedom. I could see the gate afar. It was bathed in amber. But for someone who owned a three-story thirty acre home, sure didn't know how to invest in better security. I would have thought for sure that someone would have broken me from my stride, but by some act of god, I had been saved from my lecherous tactics once again.

* * *

I closed in distance as I approached a field of trees. They hung like fingertips and were mature due to the early season of spring. It was still a bit nippy and the skirt I wore had whipped me round' like an exhibitionist. It had no shame in exposing my bare thighs. Thankfully, paparazzi would have a much more difficult chance catching coverage. Nature grew over the path to Main Street and disguised my attire within its brush. My feet seem to wander on their own accord; unfortunately, my eyes began to deceive me.

What I thought had been a faster route had caused me to lose sight of the entrance.

I figured to call Miroku since he always knew what to do in this type of predicament. I would have called my driver, but it would have appeared too suspicious. I would hate for this to become a repeat of last month's tabloid; _Kagome Higurashi's out the closet? Photos and footage found the aspiring model in the arms of the sensational actress, Kikyou Ougara and her bisexual lover Hojo Loweing. Hojo admits to having sexual relations between the two on numerous occasions._

Grabbing the rouge clutch from my underarm, I frantically looked through my PDA. Where was his number when I need it?

On the first attempt, I ended up dialing Takahashi's before hour's hotline. Hanging up, I decided to use speed-dial to reach his phone. But soon after getting a connection tone, it forwarded to his voicemail. In efforts to get a response, I realized that my signal was low. And it also came apparent that I was still a bit buzzed. I hadn't thought the situation through but I needed to take drastic measures.

Propping the organizer between my lips, honey-eyed nails latched onto a low branch as ebony heels dug into the bark of maple. Strategically, I decided to climb. Trying at best to appear casual, I looked like a deranged housewife that gone mad. Keeping my cool, my patience was wasting thin. I dialed his number once more and was defiant in listening to its repetitive tone.

_You've reached Miroku Q. Gorge; I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a brief message specifying your business, I will return your call as so_—damn, just my luck. As if I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, I had made a bold decision to head the way I came and needed to think logically.

Near the veranda, I remember seeing the garden.

It'd been ten minutes as arms grew tired and legs became weak.

It was hopeless in staying above ground when all I saw was the glowing tops of mansions at sea. I decided to creep down and hopefully catch glimpse of an alternative exit. I had stepped into some sick, modern, aspiration of Narnia. I knew it couldn't have been this difficult to get out of the neighborhood. But as far as homes go, it was evident that I was being held captive for past actions.

"Thank you, _Karma_." I cursed beneath my breath; this wasn't the way I intended to exhaust myself.

I was not about to wait til sunrise to see my way through, that shit was not about to happen. I had my whole career riding on this affair. I couldn't afford to make simple mistakes. God, if this was some kind of punishment I think I've gotten the picture. How was I able to score someone with such wealth and not even able to bask in the least of it. Where the hell was I last night, anyways? _I've got to get a grip._ At this rate, I'll be ageing twice as fast before I hit thirty.

Crawling down, I slipped on a bird's nest and hit my back on a thicker branch.

Slamming head first into a brush of burgundy roses, their thorns punctured several areas and tore countless places round' the lower half of my clothing. Just great, I practically begged Naraku to sneak me the outfit last week at the runway in Berlin. I'm sure the designer noticed, but couldn't quite figure who would take an eighty thousand dollar outfit in its original design—especially without pay. This woman right here; I just didn't expect to have ruined it so soon. I'm usually prone to keeping things intact for months at a time, but situations like this tend to lessen its life span.

Now it hadn't been the most pleasant of falls, but at least I hadn't suffered from a slight concussion.

Clearing some debris from the tan stitching in my corset, I quickly pranced to my feet and turn the corner without hesitation. But before I redirected my steps, I spotted a 250 Ferrari GTO riding in. It appeared to come through a hidden path. Just outside the walk way lye the gate. Why hadn't I notice the path before? I must have gotten displaced whenever I drunk in fascination. There had been Greek statues at the lower left wing, right outside the veranda. Talk about irony.

Dew swept through the atmosphere. The farther I was, the more their headlights seem to have illuminated. They approached in a more haunting manner as the vehicle slowed. Somehow, they managed to pin point my exact location.

Busted.

Easing in, it came to a sudden halt. I'd been captured. In efforts to remain discreet had failed. I was in for the grand finale. In efforts to run, a sharp vine curled around my ankle as I slid against the pedals from my previous fall. Tripping into the open, the curb snapped against my waist and everything appeared darkened.

It took a minute before I could come to.

* * *

Headlights flickered furiously as I strained to look at its passenger. Much was blurred, so it didn't make sense to focus anything.

I couldn't quite tell who it had been, but I figured it may have been a butler or relative of some kind. Somewhere inside, visitors sounded a lot better right now. At least I could pull of another lie and get myself a ride out of the estate. But even so, only one question came to mind. Why would they leave a woman lying in the middle of the road? I figured someone would have rolled down the window to scold me for trespassing, but they remained in the vehicle—still flashing those damn headlights. Money or not, I guess I hadn't been that important to approach by physical contact.

"Hey, Jackass," I wasn't able to muster much of an insult, but I needed some type of reaction. It was better than having no one here to help me.

I'm sure from the sudden sunrise; I'd been on private quarters for more than two hours. Time fly's quick when you're running from possible blackmail.

"Hey—I wouldn't mind some assistance down here," My plea must have been acknowledge. Soon after, the driver dimmed the lighting as it thinned into my reflection. Whoever it was had rolled in quickly as if wanting to run me over, but stopped when in close enough distance to tap my fragile physique.

Oddly enough, this was my way of getting help.

What, was I not good enough for a face to face approach? I'm sure this individual had a plastered grin across their face and I swore once I got in close enough proximity, my hand will definitely give them a pleasant hello.

Finally regaining some composure, I began to stand on my feet as I pulled away at my heels and held them in my free hand. Pushing towards the front of the antique, I gripped one of its four eyed headlights and took on what was left of my pride by reaching onto the vehicle for balance. Hitting the top of the hood out of frustration, I limped as quickly as I could to the passenger window. They were tinted and even now I still couldn't read who it had been. I tapped my heels against its frame as I heard a cry from the inside.

It was muffled, but I was able to make it out. "O-Oi, sweet heart—careful with those weapons you call shoes. I just bought this baby." Its dark exterior rolled in prompt approach as a vibration of music echoed through the heart of the vehicle. A hushed voice came in after and I immediately recognized the face. Its owner hadn't scolded me in attempts to rescue. But instead, I was ushered like a damsel in distress.

"Well don't you look—uh, pretty?" He chuckled.

God, if looks could _kill._ I thought.

"Just hurry up and get in the car, we don't have much time to get out of here. I think I might have woken up someone." He swung his arm over and opened the door. As I grabbed my clutch, he pulled me inside.

Oh, my hero.

If it hadn't been the more perfect time for Miroku to show up two hours late—it would have had to been now.

The rise of day had barely peeked over the horizon as I sunk into leather seating. Noting the way back out, he reversed and sped off on the winding driveway. As the garden came farther into view, I looked over the design of his child. So this was the love he spoke of a few months back.

If its one thing I knew about Miroku, he knew how to drive in style and would do anything to get his hands on a classic. I sprawled my aching buns across the flooring as I took in its elegance. The silver 250 California GT LWB couldn't have dated back any further than the late 1950's. It must have cost well over three million, if not more.

Miroku looked over with a warily expression, as if trying to signal a sign of comfort. I lye against the door and rested my eyes in fatigue. Rubbing my shoulder, he then spoke in hopes to lighten the heavy mood.

"You know, this is an original. It was among 80 cars offered by the Paris auction house Artcurial…"

His words faded and I could only reflect on the sudden guilt.

It was either that or I was starving. But now that I came to think of the idea, it could have been both. My muscles find sanctum. The seating was comforting and had wooed me to rest. I looked over and motioned him a faint smile. In response, he flashed a signature grin; only to have played Sade's album to ease the stress. I tossed and turned, not evening noticing how far we've gotten. Just how fast was he driving, anyways? I took a glimpse in the rear view mirror as a sign of an approaching highway had dispersed from view.

* * *

Emerald layered cotton had lain graciously above worn stockings.

I felt defiled in the oddest thrill as I realized the withering distortion of ebony lace. It appeared that the fabric it was stitched from was ruining itself in discoloration. It appeared as though I'd purposely left the hotel in such grungy attire, but its aid came in compliments; as I wore a corset that became more torn as the minutes went by. Its brass buckles were clipped and its chain lay loose against the golden lace. I'd been thankful that it would have taken more for them to become damaged. Surely in Miroku's mind; my attired did raise hellfire since he was no more but a brother to me. Even so, he was just as lecherous.

Due to the sudden impact, my chest was rosy stained. It almost appeared as if I had been abused. The girls spilled well over the fabricated piece and I looked as if I just came off a pornographic set. Entirely exposed, the top seemed reluctant to adjust on its own accord. So, to retract some sense of class, I needed some form of assistance. Apparently, he had a leather jacket in the back that blended well with the throw I had originally had on. Taking it as my own, I would have to remember to give it back to him at some later date.

Turning the stereo to a minimum, Miroku removed shades that were a deep autumn and placed them against his chest. We've gotten somewhere near an exit and approached an oncoming three way stoplight. The government in Amsterdam doesn't encourage the usage of cars, so we'd have to take a train in order to get to the other side of the city.

Choking up, he came close to busting a gut. "Mind explaining why you look like hell?" He teased.

"I fell." I gave him a cold glare as he decided to change topics.

"Anyways, how'd you get on that side of town in less than eight hours?" If I didn't' know any better, I would have sworn Miroku was my father. He'd always have some way of interrogating me, but he gave me my space when I needed it the most.

It's funny though. Every time he takes his eye off me, I end up getting myself into some type of trouble.

"You even seemed too eager to leave the photo shoot yesterday. That's not like you."

Here we go again.

"I didn't hear anything from you after Kohaku brought in coffee from the usual run." I tucked myself under his coat in hope to achieve the act of disappearing. Houdini would be proud. "Kagome talk to me,"

I turned my back in defiance.

The city had finally awakened. Other vehicles came into view behind us as the streets became just as busy with bicycles, railing, and public transportation.

"Please," I hated when he begged. "Lately you've kept me in the dark and it's not like you to keep anything from me."

He'd been right, but I knew the consequences of explaining myself. But it was only because I didn't have an excuse to my actions. That was just it. That was the reason. I had lost control of who I was and it would have distraught me to see disappointment on his face.

I wouldn't be able to erase the thought from memory.

"It's not that I'm keeping secrets, Miroku." I tried looking at him, but I couldn't do it. "I don—I can't remember. I just can't remember what happened last night."

This was how we all had slowly built on self owned reputation, by flawing and straying away from the teachings we'd been raised upon. I lied to him. I couldn't tell him I slept with some stranger after hitting up an after party last night. This was Amsterdam, baby. This was where people lived and let live. Miroku wasn't much of the social type, so it made no sense to have invited him.

I had my innocence once upon a time, but I have passed it onto many men in such desperation to find love.

I'd only flown into the city a few nights ago and I'd already gotten into a bloody mess—literally. I should thank Miroku from wanting to come with, because it had only been a two week stay for an important interview with the marketing of Izayoi's clothing line. They wanted to discuss my rise to fame and what lies in store for spring 20/20. I wasn't kidding when I noted that my career was riding on this interview. I couldn't afford to have another tall tell in the headlines.

I had been lucky that he was not only a faithful friend, but protected and managed my career from the beginning. If it hadn't been for him, I would have proven my mother right. To her, my career was _sinful_ and I was a mere puppet as the devil's advocate.

"Alright," He said. While parking the car, he looked through a couple papers in the side door. He was in search of his fake ID. Not wanting to much attention drawn to us in the area, he unfortunately couldn't find it.

Several minutes seemed to pass as we waited for a chauffeur on the deck. I'm sure as much as Miroku wanted to, he didn't appear to take his eyes off me. I could feel them staring. Through what, I wasn't sure. It was as if he could urge me to regurgitate what information I was neglected to tell. As kids, he'd always had the habitat of doing that to those he cared about. But true, it was more along the line of showing he would always be there. No matter the circumstance.

Even so, those eyes could sway women to suicide if he wanted them to.

We'd stop by a nearby café to perk up our spirits. The vehicle was filled with the sweet aroma of vanilla and hazelnut. A little way over had been a booth and as we made our way back to the car. It could be seen in some distance of an enraged employer. Apparently the chauffer had been slacking on the job and was on the brink of being fired. Knowing Miroku and the value of his toys, he would raise brimstones if even the slightest scratch was found on his vintage.

Speaking in a heavily adjusted accent, Miroku spoke the language of the Netherlands.

He winded his window in discretion almost forgetting our place in the world. Plucking a band from his compartment, he rustled his coco locks into a bun. The last thing we wanted was a bounty of women raging in our direction. I couldn't be seen like this. _Bazaar_ and _Fashion _magazine would have my head. They would spare no time in flaming my career, which in turn would lessen my status as one of the biggest names since _Twiggy_.

It would've been worse if he'd been caught.

Miroku certainly couldn't be seen in Amsterdam when he was originally supposed to be taking business in Japan. Before letting its thin sheet sink completely into the door, he threw me a pair of shades and a caucasian laced accessory. It was embellished in foreign designs from the homeland. As much as I never wanted to look back, I missed France. After being completely disowned from my family, the spotlight craving daemon would have corrupted the very end of me. But the poverty influenced childhood did come in some form of purpose at times like this.

Seeming impatient, the chauffer held his hands against his hips.

"Excuse me, but my wife and I would like to take transportation through the railing. Is it possible for you to transport my car across the city?" As much as I wanted to kill Miroku for claiming me as his, the chauffeur appeared bored and bought our disguise.

The man may have worn uniform, but his personality reflected slob. Rolling his eyes, he snatched the keys from my hands before I was able to hand it to him. I took gesture to how much composure Miroku had emitted. The name tag of our so called employee had read _Joseph_ and I'm sure if we hadn't been in a hurry, I would have given him a piece of my mind.

"You do realize you I need an ID, right? What er' waiting fur'? C'mon, I ain't got all day."

"We're not intending on staying in the city for long, I don't see the need for a picture ID." Miroku responded.

"I dun' care, you need some type of registration of the vehicle and ID in order to ship it to another part of the country. Its how it works round' here. Got a problem, you shouldn't have come here yer' damn tourist."

That would have been enough to push my feisty ass over the edge, but Miroku motioned his hand to lay down my guard and politely gave the man his ID. Even though he didn't like passing up the fraud ID, this was an emergency. We only had a few hours until the interview started.

Joseph barely looked over the information and threw it at the car. Lucky for lassie boy here, the card fell to the ground and was only inches for creating a crime scene. As calm as he'd been, there were those rare moments in which Miroku would become enraged.

I remember a time when we were in high school.

Some teenagers decided to pick at my hair. In fact, it was a literal sense on how often they would play in its length. It always reached past my hips and throughout my life I had been often mistaken for Indian when clearly I was French. True, it had been much longer and thicker than any of my classmates, it was sought to be cut by the jealous crowd.

One day, someone had decided to follow me home. Just as I was about to put my hair into a ponytail, _snip snip_ it went. They managed to have cut it to the length of my shoulders and Miroku was across the way street to witness it all. If I'd ever seen Miroku more upset, it had been then. There was something in his eyes that screamed mental dysfunction, as if he was looking to murder someone. After that, whenever I saw the kid who cut my hair, he would quiver. I never understood why, but the fears in his eyes were nothing less of genuine. It was if someone had scarred him for life.

"Well, we're having some difficulties in transporting. So yer' waiting limit will be forty eight hours before it's transported."

"F—Forty eight hours?! You can't be serious?" I barked.

I'd only been two inches from wringing his neck. Other passengers behind us were getting their cars docked, shipped, transported. He had purposed to annoy us with his behavior and it was getting old. I pushed passed Miroku in attempt to take out the nuisance. But as I got only centimeters away, I felt a firm grip around forearm. It had been strong and I almost welled in pain.

I was unable to move.

"Yea, forty eight, I dun' run the business lady!"

Miroku pushed me aside and motioned me to get my stuff from the car. It seemed as if he wanted to talk man to man. It was wild on how I couldn't as much speak without being pushed in the opposing direction, but I knew his thoughts. If I had something to say about the situation, we might have gotten our cover blown.

I don't know where I would be if it wasn't for the hardship I endured. I probably wouldn't have met Miroku and establish the friendship we have now, but those are tales are for another time.

* * *

Amsterdam's main canals can be classified as monuments. The beauty surpassed its beholders and pursued to keep profound history in the hearts of its people. I would have considered moving, but I still had business in Berlin. Even its apartments, offices, cafés, restaurants, and brothels were enough to keep a woman unfaithful. All together they make the city one of the most charming in the world.

"Hungry, Kagome?" Miroku gestured some peanuts in the air. I didn't even bother to look in his direction. By time we'd gotten onto the train, I still hadn't come to terms with telling him what happened. I felt as if I were drowning in a self-made limbo.

"I'm fine." My voice came off more demanding than it did soft.

Fiddling with his shades, he looked away in astonishment.

"How long do you plan on giving me the cold shoulder?"

As usual, it was wrong of me to have pushed him away. But I couldn't help it. What was I suppose to say?

"Miroku look," I took a deep breath before continuing. "I appreciate you saving my ass back there, but I need you to understand something."

Whipping around the seat, he looked for the cart attendant in attempt to ignore me.

"I'm not in the mood to talk about last night. Besides, shouldn't I be more focused on the interview?" He was getting agitated. "Its tonight and I don't want to have a one ni—."

Before I'd been able to finish, a menu was thrown onto my lap. He didn't even bother looking at me. Slowly getting up, he stopped before leaving his seat. Our eyes never made contact; he only stared down the aisle as he awaited an elderly couple to pass.

"Pick something already—anything. I'll pay." And that was the end of that. I could tell he was upset, but somehow I've managed to hurt him as well.

I wanted to call out and say that I was sorry for not opening up, but he walked out of view before I could conceive a thought. He'd been looking for a restroom ever since we left the parking lot and I guess it was best to leave him alone for the time being. And maybe it wouldn't hurt to eat something. After all, he knew I was lying when I said I wasn't hungry. I opened the menu and found snacks that were decently budgeted. From pretzel to croissants and croissants to lemon cakes; they basically had the works.

He wanted to order something.

Everything could be handled without his assistance; I refuse for Miroku to pay for anything else. I knew that idiot from the chauffer office was going to squeeze more than a pretty penny out of his GTB. Just getting his antique transported alone was going to cost half a mill. And if there had been any damages in transporting, he would have to pay for that out of pocket as well. I just thought I caused enough financial debt. I'd feel better just purchasing a meal on my own.

Its just the thought of him sacrificing so much didn't sit well with me. In the past five hours, I'd had been unfair to him. This was the least I could do. It just wasn't right to have so much dependence on one person. There's only so much one could bear.

Even though I was twenty one, I still had room to grow.

I know somewhere in Miroku's paradox wonderland, paradise and reality were hanging on a thin line. His cash was spent like water. Of course, that had never been a problem since he made it big as a guitarist. It even helped that the pretty boy himself got a hook for the company I work for. Takahashi & Co.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

I knew Dutch, but I had trouble in replying. Looking at the waitress, I signaled a quick gesture. Not sure on what to say, I grabbed a Dutch to English pamphlet that sat on a table in front me. Scheming through, I found something of use.

"Serve alcohol?" She looked quite bewildered.

"Oh yak," Her accent was light, yet gawky. It was one thing to speak the language, but understanding came quite natural.

"We don' serve alcohol this hour of the afternoon. But if you'd like ma'am, we do serve virgins,"

Oh, just perfect. They only sold Virgins. I needed something with a kick and a virgin would barely give me the buzz I needed.

"You have virgin Moscato?" The woman nodded and picked up the menu.

I just wanted to get back to my hotel. I needed a hot shower and a real drink. Some vodka should definitely do me good.

"Right away," She replied as order was placed. On the verge to speak on identification, I flashed a bright smile. That much I knew was universal. I removed my clutch that settled in a cub near the curtains of the train. Grazing my hand against its velvety texture, I noticed that the latch was broken. Nevertheless, I continued to prop it open just as Miroku came into view.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Miroku playfully grabbed my clutch as he tapped it against his chin. "I told you I would pay, didn't I?"

"I need to get my card, I ordered a Moscato."

"Moscato?" He was ready to scold.

He glared as he raised my clutch in higher distance. He took advantage that I'd been five foot six.

"Oh no you don't Miroku, don't give me that look. You told me I could order anything—besides, I'm paying for it."

"I meant food, Kagome. You're such an alcoholic." Folding his arms, he gave me that look of disappointment. God, I hated when he gave me the guilt trip.

This overprotective attitude was starting to bother me. I needed a drink damn it. It had been one hell of a morning and I was not about to let him talk me out of getting a drink.

"I'm sorry, but you're not the one who busted their ass twice today." He coughed. "I fell out of a maple tree, Miroku. Do you know how high one those things are?" The look on his face was priceless and it appeared that the cart attendant knew her English. She looked as if she was also on the brink of laughter.

"Don't you dare."

He couldn't contain himself.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny," I snatched my clutch out of his palm as it finally propped open. "I could have seriously injured myself!" In annoyance, I began to scold. Fortunately for him, we had bigger things to stress about.

"What?" I cautiously said. His facial expression was unreadable and yet he seemed mutually horrified.

"Kagome," He picked the clutch from my hands as he motioned to look inside. "What exactly happened back at the estate?" Flipping it upside down, there was nothing but a small pack of condoms and the morning after pill box. Not only did the necessities fall, but a few receipts from the night before had found bedding on the seat.

I wasn't sure how to approach the situation, seeing as though there were a couple things missing. My heart dropped. My PDA, a pearled necklace from graduation, my wallet, and the keys to my Porsche Malibu Panamera hybrid were nowhere to be found.

If it wasn't for the fact that I was working for one of the highest ranking companies in Germany, this would have been quite funny. In fact, I would have laughed hysterically. But, unfortunately from the time on Miroku's watch, it read one thirty five pm. I was to receive a call from one of the most well respected fashion designer's in the world by three eighteen pm.

What could be the worst case scenario?

Losing all your belongings at the home of some celebrity, who wouldn't even recognize your face if he saw you again. Would possibly blackmail you and ruin your name by false accusations. Or could it be much worst to be fired from a job that has worked you for three, very long years. And establishing the biggest reputation since Dolce & Gabbana realized that they're one word, not two.

Just to think that all of it to be thrown away, all for the sake of one man; whose name you can't even remember.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

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A/N: Well there you have it. I think I've lightened up on the vocabulary and made things much more simpler to understand. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the chapter. Lol, it took a lot to conform my writing to my audience and I hope to update sometime soon. If you'd like to see more, please review! It will be gladly appreciated to hear the thoughts and critiques of my readers.

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Avid Support

I would like to thank _FictionMission_, _Mathematical Concepts_, _DemonXCat_ & _I Love Snowy Owls_. For continuously reviewing and being all around supportive of my works. It means very much and I can't thank you enough. If I haven't PM'd you as of yet, please feel free to let me know.

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Thank for reading,

-ITO


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